Didn’t Make The Cut


How to tell you are doing the work you are supposed to do: when you can cut out three poems, just like that, out of your manuscript as you do the layout your style (because you’re just a control freak that way) before it goes to the designer. You know your narrative, you know what goes. You even know what stays only because some people might demand refunds if it isn’t included.


The cocaine of you.
The hard drunk rock and roll god
damned nearness of you.


You with your snakeskin
heart and quarter of moon lost
in your back pocket
seam. Drummer, you ensnare me
in a mandala of lust.


Your love, shapeshifter,
is like tonight’s blood-ripe moon,
coyly cloaked in clouds.

Update: Oops, and there goes another one…


Naïvely, I threw
my love into space like a
boomerang, certain
of return. But your love is
a discus, and you took aim.

One response »

  1. *hearts* HAIKU, oh I do.

    Btw, haven’t replied you yet on your lil email cos I’ve been running around like a neckless, headless chicken these past few days. Let me sit down properly on the morrow, sip upon your words and hopefully form some semblance of a decent response. :)


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